


Survivors of War

by leafpool310



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Mentions of Suicide, Moving On, PTSD, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20931743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafpool310/pseuds/leafpool310
Summary: The war ended for the wizarding world as a whole, but not the individuals.





	1. Chapter 1

There were moments after the war that made living life hard. Moments when Dennis Creevey woke up in his muggle home, and was told he would not be allowed to go back to Hogwarts because “those people” had killed his brother. 

Moments when Harry Potter woke up from yet another nightmare of a loved one’s death to Ginny whispering soothing words to him, letting him know she was there for him. 

Moments when Hermione Granger went to visit her parents - parents who had no idea who she was. They only knew her as the girl who spent her summers in Australia near them. 

But they were living. They’d  _ survived _ . PTSD wasn’t a known thing in the wizarding world, but those that had been there during that horrible last battle suffered from it. 

People like Lavender Brown, who couldn’t look at herself in the mirror anymore, whose father and muggle stepmother looked at her with fear in their eyes, despite the fact she  _ hadn’t _ been turned into a werewolf; that they were only scars. She wasn’t a monster, but they saw her as one. 

People like George Weasley, who also couldn’t look in a mirror, but for a different reason. He only saw Fred in the mirror these days, and couldn’t even stand to celebrate his birthday because it was  _ Fred’s  _ birthday too, and they’d never celebrated without the other. 

People like Andromeda Tonks, who  _ hadn’t _ been in that battle but had suffered nonetheless. After all, she’d lost her entire family and was left with a baby, a grandson who wouldn’t know what wonderful people his parents and grandfather had been. 

They were surviving, but barely, and the rest of the wizarding world didn’t care. 

Didn’t care when Cho Chang left entirely, going to live as a muggle because living in the wizarding world was  _ too hard _ , when her first boyfriend had been the first known death in that awful war. It was  _ too hard _ facing other wizards she’d gone to school with, people who only saw her as that  _ poor girl  _ who’d spent the majority of her sixth year at Hogwarts crying. 

Didn’t care when Gregory Goyle killed himself two months after the war ended, because everywhere he went he’d seen his best friend, his best friend that yeah, had been on the wrong side - but they’d only been kids, only been doing what their parents had asked of them. 

So when, at the first anniversary of the battle, there were hardly any people there, the press was surprised. 

Surprised that Ron Weasley refused to give a speech, because it had only been  _ luck  _ that he’d lived through it, after all, and why should they celebrate the deaths of hundreds? Even a year after they didn’t know the total amount of people who’d been killed. 

They were surprised that Minerva McGonagall had stood up to give a speech, but had broken down ten minutes in because she’d tried, tried letting them know what the cost had been, but she’d lost so many students, so many  _ children _ , and so she’d ended up walking off the stage, leaving her speech half done. 

Life went on, as it does, and the wars were taught in school to children whose parents and grandparents had been a part of the horror, but the horror had faded as far as they were concerned, after all, the war was over. But they didn’t know what the individuals had suffered, they didn’t know the nightmares. 

The nightmares Dean Thomas had, of that awful time on the run and then being in the Malfoy’s basement, not knowing if they’d just kill him or if they’d torture him first. Nightmares of listening to Hermione’s screams from above, and knowing that could be  _ him _ next and they weren’t able to help her. 

The nightmares Luna Lovegood and her father had, nightmares where they were separated and lost what remained of their tiny family, nightmares that the death eaters caught up with them years later and killed the person they loved and left them screaming and crying and alone. 

The nightmares Horace Slughorn had, of one of the brightest students he’d had, and of a conversation that had led to the wars in the first place, that had led to the death of another bright student, a muggleborn who’d just been trying to live her life with her family. 

The war was over for the wizarding world, but not for the individuals, not for families who nearly died out and the families that were forgotten. 

The war wasn’t over for Draco Malfoy, who saw one of his childhood friends fall into a fire of his own creation, who found his other childhood friend in his bed at home, his wand still resting on the pillow next to his temple. 

The war wasn’t over for Molly Weasley, who had lost her brothers the first time and a son the second, and had very nearly lost her husband. 

The war wasn’t over for Amos Diggory, who drank most nights and slept most days, no longer working, no longer caring about  _ anything _ and wouldn’t it just be better if he didn’t exist? If he could be with his son again? His son who’d only been  _ seventeen _ and had just been in the  _ wrong place _ ? 

People began to forget. They forgot about the muggle deaths, only talked about the numbers. They talked about the unforgivables, but never saw them in action. They learned about Threstals and the year so many students saw them for the first time, but  _ they  _ didn’t see them and that was okay. It was okay because their parents and grandparents and teachers didn’t want them to know what fear was. 

The fear of not knowing if the person that lived next to you was a part of the opposite side, the fear of not being able to go to the wizarding hospital if you were sick because they’d been taken over and if you were on the wrong side of things - or the right side, depending on what you believed - your family would likely never see you again. The fear, the true fear, of dementors sweeping over you and the dark mark above your house and that green light heading straight to you or someone you loved. 

That fear was forever. There was no forgetting it. 

And the world slowly changed, the world slowly moved on. 


	2. Dennis

Dennis Creevey had a hard time after the war. Colin had been one of the only people who’d really known him, had known what it was like to leave their close knit family for an entirely new  _ world _ , one that shunned them for the start. 

His parents hadn’t understood what had happened. McGonagall had gone with Dennis back home following the battle, and it was a pale faced Richard and Kimberly Creevey that learned their eldest son was dead because people had decided his life was worth nothing. In attempting to explain, Dennis had equated the death eaters to Nazis, and you-know-who to Hitler. This helped a little, but when McGonagall had left, his parents were determined he would never go back to the wizarding world. 

Dennis pleaded, begged, told them there was nothing left to worry about - and when none of that worked, he ran away. 

He ended up in Diagon Alley, which too was still recovering, and rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron, heart aching to have left the only family he had left. He didn’t know what Colin would have said about him abandoning his parents so soon after they’d lost a son, but he could only hope he would have understood. The wizarding world had meant everything to his older brother. The knowledge that they were different from the other kids growing up  _ for a reason _ was the only thing that had kept him going. He’d died for that world, and so surely he’d understand? 

He felt sick whenever he thought about his parents, waking up one morning to find their remaining son gone and a note left in his place, but really, what had they expected? 

Towards the end of August, when he was running out of money, he sent a letter off to McGonagall asking if he could come back to Hogwarts earlier, and the headmistress had agreed, flooing to the Leaky Cauldron herself to pick him up and take him back to the school. 

The three months since the battle had been enough time to start the reconstruction of the school, but there were still places in the castle that were hard to look at. McGonagall, a quieter woman than the one he’d known before, took him to the temporary memorial they had near the lake for all those who’d lost their lives, and almost without meaning to, his eyes had instantly drifted to Colin’s. 

“He was the definition of Gryffindor,” McGonagall murmured behind Dennis, and he couldn’t turn to look at her as she went on, her voice muffled as if she were holding back tears. He couldn’t stand to see her face if she were crying.

“He shouldn’t have been there,” Dennis said finally. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I - I turned around when we’d gotten to the Hog’s Head and he was gone.” Anger filled his chest, and he picked a rock up off the ground and threw it as hard as he could into the lake. He watched it sink into the water, the anger unlessened. “Why did he do it?” he asked weakly, but the figure behind him didn’t speak; couldn’t find the words, perhaps. 

Without another word he walked away, heading toward where Hagrid’s hut still stood, the roof having been replaced. He thought about knocking on the gamekeeper’s door, but it was technically still summer and he couldn’t stand to be seen as an intruder. He’d felt like one enough for the weeks he’d been back home. 

So he wandered around the grounds more, stopping every now and then to look back toward the lake and the memorial, where a figure still stood. 

It wasn’t fair, Dennis decided, that someone as young as Colin had died, while someone McGonagall’s age, which, to be frank, nobody actually knew, had lived. If anyone should have died, it should’ve been someone older, or at least someone who deserved it. 

Like Draco Malfoy. 

Earlier that summer, he’d gotten a glimpse at the paper, where the verdict of half a dozen death eater trials had graced the front page. Malfoy had gotten off - not scot free, perhaps, but still free to return to Hogwarts in September. 

As Dennis stood near the forest, he made a decision - Draco Malfoy would pay when he returned to school. 

He made the plan quietly, spending hours in the library researching hexes and curses, trying to find the one that would fit the crime. One that was legal; he’d debated the unforgivables, but it wouldn’t do to land himself in Azkaban, despite it being free of dementors for an undefined time.

Around the time the students were getting on the train to come to Hogwarts, he made a finalized his plan.

It took weeks for the opportunity to find Draco Malfoy alone. He or Dennis was usually with another student, which couldn’t be helped. It would have seemed strange for Dennis to completely seclude himself. But of course, none of his friends noticed the anger simmering in him, or if they did, they ignored it, or put it down to grief. They weren’t completely wrong if they thought the latter. 

The only thing that motivated Dennis during those days was the thought of revenge. Finally, someone would be really punished for Colin dying, instead of just being thrown in a jail cell with the promise of a dementor’s kiss in the future. No, not even the dementor’s kiss was a good enough punishment for those people. They got off too easily with that; Dennis had read all about it. It was as good as being dead, so they wouldn’t  _ suffer _ . And Dennis needed someone to suffer. 

He was finally able to put his plan into action three days after everyone left for the Christmas holidays. Dennis obviously wasn’t going home. He hadn’t even written his parents beyond a small note when school started letting them know where he was. He didn’t know why Malfoy didn’t go home, but nor did he particularly care. All he cared about was the revenge. 

When he caught Malfoy alone, he was still on the floor above him and had seen him walking below. With a quick silencing charm on his shoes and a disillusionment spell, he hurried after him, waiting until he’d gone into an empty classroom - one that was also empty of portraits. 

“ _ Silencio _ ,” he hissed, the spell hitting Malfoy in the back. Enraged, he whirled, but Dennis was ready for him. “ _ Expelliarmus _ .” The wand flew in the air and Dennis caught it. He stared at it for a minute, aware of Malfoy’s angry glare, before calmly snapping it in half and throwing the pieces in a corner. “You can afford a new one,” Dennis said coldly. Malfoy made his way to the door, but - “ _ Colloportus.”  _ There was silence as the pureblood and the mudblood stared at each other, hatred in both their eyes. “Sit down,” Dennis demanded, nodding to one of the chairs. Malfoy stood up straight, crossing his arms. “Now, or I’ll make you.” The blonde slowly took a seat, his grey eyes never leaving Dennis’s face. 

There was a long silence, the two of them eyeing each other. Dennis continued holding his wand up, pointed inbetween Malfoy’s eyes, but his hand had started to shake as his nerves took hold. “ _ Incarcerous, _ ” he whispered, and ropes flew out of his wand, wrapping around Malfoy. “It’s your fault,” he managed, his voice breaking. He leaned against the sealed door, trying to control his breathing. “You - you let the death eaters in, and Dumbledore died. If Dumbledore hadn’t died, Collin wouldn’t have died.” Malfoy shook his head, but Dennis ignored him. “I don’t know who actually killed him, but it doesn’t matter. They won’t actually get punished. I can punish you.” He canceled the silencing charm, and Malfoy heaved a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am. But I don’t know who killed your brother-” 

“Didn’t I just say that doesn’t matter?” Dennis snapped. “It doesn’t matter who killed him.  _ You’re _ to blame.” He stood there for awhile, keeping his wand steady, keeping it pointed at the  _ filthy death eater _ . But after some time had passed, he lowered his wand, pointing it toward the floor. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t avenge Colin. With a growl, he shot a  _ diffindo _ at the ropes, releasing Malfoy, and he turned away. Malfoy didn’t leave immediately, instead pitying the young Gryffindor, before quietly leaving him to his grief. 

In the days and weeks following, Dennis half expected the ministry to come swooping down to arrest him, but nobody ever came. For some reason the muggleborn didn’t understand, Malfoy had never reported him. 

He continued on, concentrating on his lessons. 

Dennis Creevey would later end up graduating head of his class, and going on to become an auror. He and his parents reunited soon after he finished his training, and though there were tears, they were happy ones. 

And when Dennis married, his firstborn son was named Colin. 


End file.
